Harry: The Early Years
by Emrys MK
Summary: A set of ten drabbles and a little more that gives a glimpse into Harry's younger years.


**Title**: Harry: The Early Years  
**Author**: Sev1970/MK Malfoy  
**Character**: Harry Potter  
**Rating**: G  
**Warning**: angsty!  
**Words**: 1,011  
**Date Written**: April 9, 2008  
**Disclaimer**: Not mine!  
**Summary**: A set of ten drabbles and a little more that gives a glimpse into Harry's younger years.

**~*~**

When he was one, Harry had everything a toddler could want. He laughed as he hovered inches off the ground on his broom, and he waved at his mummy and daddy as they smiled at him. He then laughed at his godfather and Uncle Remus and tried to say their names. When he said _Unc__Wemus_, he landed his little broom, clapped his hands, then ran into the open arms of his godfather who picked him up and threw him into the air, causing him to laugh aloud. When he was handed to his mummy, he kissed and hugged her.

When he was two, Harry had nothing a toddler needed. He sat in his cot and watched as his aunt dressed his cousin. Then his eyes followed the two as they left the room and closed the door. Now Harry was alone, still wearing what he had slept in, and he was hungry. He wanted to cry, but knew it would cause his uncle to come in the room and yell at him. He hated it when Uncle Vernon did that. So he decided the best thing was to go back to sleep. Maybe he would have that dream again.

When he was three, Harry stood at the window and watched as his cousin played outside with his friends. Harry didn't have any friends, but he wanted to have one. It looked like Dudley was having fun. If Harry had a friend, would he have fun? Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon didn't want him to have friends for some reason that Harry couldn't understand. He always did as he was told and tried not to make trouble. So why did they treat him so badly? Harry sniffled and wiped his nose on his shirt as he turned from the window.

When he was four, Harry was moved to the cupboard under the stairs. He cried when Uncle Vernon shut the door and locked him in. It was so dark. What had he done? Why didn't they love him? What could he do to change their minds? He would try to be better. They were always telling him how much of a freak he was. Harry didn't know what a freak was, but he guessed that he was one if his aunt and uncle said that was what he was. Why did they treat Dudley differently? Harry wished he were Dudley.

When he was five, Harry lost his first tooth. Dudley had lost one a few months earlier and had placed it under his pillow. The next morning, he had found a tenner under the pillow. Harry grinned as he placed his tooth underneath his pillow, and then lay his head down and closed his eyes. When he woke and found the tooth still there and no tenner, two tears fell down his small face. Why was he so different? Why didn't anyone love him? Father Christmas had left him a bag of coal, and now this. Harry was all alone.

When he was six, Harry, wearing a pair of cheap glasses that the school had insisted his aunt and uncle get him the year before, sat against the wall in the kitchen as his aunt asked Dudley how he was doing. She hadn't asked Harry, and he knew she wouldn't. She did look at him with a frown on her face, and then shouted at him when he dropped a stale crisp on the floor. He dropped the bag and sniffled. He didn't understand. He would never understand. Dudley looked at him and laughed, then called him a four-eyed freak.

When he was seven, Harry learned how to cook. Uncle Vernon had got him a special stool that he could stand on. It was the first thing Harry had ever got that was just for him. Aunt Petunia yelled at him when he spilled on the floor, and made him clean it up. Harry was careful, but his little hands couldn't help it. When Uncle Vernon arrived home from work, he yelled some more, saying how the _freak_ was good for nothing. Then his aunt Petunia said something about her sister the freak producing such a good for nothing spawn.

When he was eight, Harry stayed in his cupboard all day; he was sick. When Dudley was sick, Aunt Petunia took good care of him and made sure he got better, but Harry knew he wouldn't be receiving the same treatment. As he sneezed and wiped his nose on his shirt, Harry curled up and cried. He didn't feel good and he wanted someone to hold him. He wanted his Mummy and Daddy, but they had been killed in a car wreck. Sometimes Harry dreamt of them, and he knew he had been happy when they had been alive.

When he was nine, Harry read a book he had found a few months earlier: it was about a family celebrating their son's birthday. Everyone looked happy, and the little boy got all sorts of neat things. Harry wished he were the boy in the book. He wanted to be anyone other than who he was. Harry lifted his hands in front of him. Next year he would have to use all of his fingers. He was a big boy, or so that is what Aunt Petunia said to Dudley. Harry wondered if he was a big boy as well.

When he was ten, Harry laughed as tears fell down his face. He had had the dream again and, for a few seconds when he had woken up, he had thought it was real, but it wasn't, and Harry couldn't take it. He wanted that life, and he wanted his parents. He hated his aunt and uncle, and he hated Dudley. Harry closed his eyes, and wished for that dream again. In his dream he was happy and people loved him. Harry was tired of spending birthdays alone with no presents. He had never even had cake for his birthday.

When he was eleven, Harry's life changed, and he was happy.


End file.
